


tapestry

by ggwynbleidd



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Forgiveness, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Canon, everyone is a mess here, magnus lives au, post doomstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29797932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggwynbleidd/pseuds/ggwynbleidd
Summary: After an odd request from Toki, Charles takes the time to reflect on some of the past relationships he's seen and experienced.
Relationships: Magnus Hammersmith/Charles Foster Offdensen, Magnus Hammersmith/Toki Wartooth, Nathan Explosion/Charles Foster Offdensen, Nathan Explosion/Magnus Hammersmith, Nathan Explosion/Toki Wartooth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	tapestry

“Absolutely not!”

Toki stared at Charles with wide, teary eyes and a trembling lip. A petulant pout that Charles had been the victim of many times over the years. He usually would have acquiesced to the pout at this point, as he had many times before. This time was different. The times before had been Toki pouting for more spending money, or for the ability to get a solo in a song, or so he could take another vacation.

This was different. Radically so. It settled in Charles’ stomach as he stared up at Toki and he curled his fingers together before pressing his clasped fists against his mouth in thought. Toki sat in a chair across from him and balled his jeans in his hands as tears rolled down his cheeks. It was a silent cry that was somehow more distressing than his dramatic bubbling sobs or catatonia.

“Charles, please?” he said quietly. “Please?”

“Toki, no,” Charles replied with a heavy sigh. “That is...beyond...it’s-“

“Charles-!” Toki repeated.

“Why?” Charles finally asked. He cocked his head to the side before narrowing his eyes. “Tell me why.”

There had been a flush on Toki’s face before, but it deepend as he avoided Charles’ gaze. Charles’ stomach soured further as he stared at the ruddiness on his face and he finally set his hands on his desk. There was a little noise Toki made - perhaps a sniffle as he wiped his nose - that made Charles feel a pang of sympathy. There was obviously something that was eating at Toki and as much as Charles cared for him, he felt that it was unfair to voice his suspicions outright. If he was wrong it was going to be embarrassing for the both of them.

“If...if we brings him back, then he cans reform,” Toki gestured with his hands as he talked, gently moving them from one leg to the other. His eyes were still fixed on the floor. “And-and gets...b-better?”

Get better. Charles was unsure if there was an ability for him to _get better_ after all that was said and done. Things that maybe Toki was familiar with and things that he knew too well and things that he didn’t know at all.

There was a moment of silence save for the creaking of leather as Toki shifted in his chair. Charles finally leaned back in his own chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses. A stress migraine was already forming in the back of his neck. He could feel it lurking like a hungry animal in the shadows. Or perhaps it was just the obvious weight that was lurking between the two of them.

“Is that the only reason you want Magnus back?” Charles finally asked. “So he can-can _reform_?”

Toki nodded silently.

“Toki-” he continued before sighing again. “Toki, please be completely transparent with me. If you are, I might consider what you’re telling me to do.”

Toki’s head snapped up in a flurry of hair and watery eyes. They stared at Charles, big and sad and pale, before finally blinking. Once, twice, three times.

“I wants him to gets better,” mumbled Toki in the most noncommittal tone possible. “So we can haves a second chance and-”

“How close were the two of you?”

“Pals. G-good pals.”

Charles should have confronted him about this sooner. There had been Pickles’ concerns about finding some “weird shit” on Toki’s phone months and months ago. He couldn’t even remember what it was. It had been a quick admonishment for Pickles for snooping and it seemed like it had been immediately forgotten. There were photos on Toki’s social media pages of the two of them constantly. Nice dinners, hotel rooms, beach vacations. All things that certainly had a different feel to them than other pictures that Toki had taken with other friends that he knew. Even the band. However, Charles had decided to shut his eyes and hope things weren’t repeating.

“I’ll consider it,” he finally said.

He felt as if he was shutting his eyes again. He hoped that he wasn’t. He hoped that he was being smart about this. Toki stood up from the chair and Charles mirrored him to escort him to the door. As Charles opened the door of his office, Toki set his hand on Charles’ shoulder as he stopped. His eyes turned soft as they looked at each other and there was a moment of still silence between the two of them.

“Thanks you,” Toki whispered. His fingers dug into Charles’ shoulder in a strong grip that he knew was meant to be a friendly squeeze. “I means it.”

He offered Toki a small smile before he left. The sight of him walking down the hall made Charles’ heart sink and he found himself closing the door all too quickly and with more force than he intended. His hands were trembling as he sat back down at his desk, took off his glasses and searched his desk for a pain reliever.

\---

Charles’ steps were careful on the dirty carpet as he walked and he found himself looking down at the floor every time that he walked. He wasn’t sure what was originally there on the floor as garbage or what was part of the damages that he was supposed to be assessing. Splintered wood and torn plastic from instruments littered the floor next to beer cans, the sparkling glass of a broken bong, the stuffing from the sofa that was currently being moved out by Murderface and Skwisgaar.

“Dude, I don’t know what the fuck happened. He said he was gonna, like, get the last bits of his shit and we...we said…it was cool…” Pickles gestured vaguely at the scene before them.

“Did you let him in by himself?” Charles asked incredulously.

“No. But fuckin’ _Nathan_ was supposed to be here, and I come in and he was fuckin’ _asleep_ -” Pickles began again but Charles held up his hand. Nathan shifted in the kitchen chair uncomfortably and cast his eyes to the ground.

“I was asleep because of those fucking oxys you found me, for my shoulder,” Nathan grumbled into his chest. Charles’ eyebrows rose.

“Oxycontin?” Charles repeated. “Why are you taking illegal oxycontin, what happened?”

Nathan scratched at his neck awkwardly. Pickles scoffed.

“Oh, uh, y-y’know...when we were fighting, Magnus, uh…” finally looking up at Charles, Nathan continued to scratch at the spot on his neck until it grew red and angry looking. “...well...y’know, he stabbed me.”

“Excuse me?!” bleated Charles, head swiveling to look at the two men in the dirty, wrecked kitchen that they were standing in. “Why was I not told about this? A call when you were at the hospital, maybe, guys?”

“I didn’t go to the hospital,” Nathan shrugged.

“I’m _sorry_?!” that telltale sign of a migraine was in Charles’ head again, his left eyelid fluttering in a twitch before looking at Nathan. He tried to regain his composure. “Was the stab not...bad?”

“Oh, it’s, like...kinda bad? Hang on,” Nathan yanked his shirt over his head and let it lay on the floor. It landed next to a pair of jeans and Charles wondered why they had a laundry pile in the kitchen. He turned his body in the chair and angled his shoulder so Charles could see it. “It’s not in the best shape.”

It was infected, is what it was. Red and swollen with what looked like clothing thread holding flesh together. Charles tentatively pressed his knuckles against the less swollen part of his shoulder and felt a wave of heat against his own skin. Nathan hissed in discomfort and Pickles looked at it with a queasy sort of disdain.

“Which one of you did this?” asked Charles softly. Pickles raised his hand. “You know this was very stupid and dangerous to do, right?”

“You know what ams stupid?!” Skwisgaar belted from the living room, separated only by a half wall. “Nat’en not wanting to call the fucking cops on hims! And sees what happens? My fucking guitars gets smashed! My Explorer, Nat’en, do you not-“

“Skwisgaar I can get a reimbursement from the label for a new guitar, if not I will pay out of pocket,” Charles snapped. And cleared his throat. “If the police weren’t called, there isn’t much we can do, unless we have a secondary address for Magnus. Which we will focus on later. Nathan, put your shirt back on. Or find one that isn’t...on the floor. A clean shirt.”

“Why?” Nathan asked defensively.

“You’re going to the hospital. Right now. Let’s go,” Charles wanted to snap his fingers impatiently to get him to head out, but the most he could do was look as stern as possible. “The rest of you...just…”

He sighed.

“Continue cleaning. Please. Broken instruments can be catalogued to be replaced, anything personal...I don’t know. We can find out ways to replace that, somehow,” he waved his hand as Nathan wandered to his room to find new clothes. “I’m so sorry this happened. But don’t think I won’t discuss how none of you thought to call me the night that that happened.”

Nathan returned with a new shirt on and his pajama pants tucked into unlaced boots. Skwisgaar gave him a withering look as he passed by and opened his mouth as if he was thinking of fighting again before deciding against it. Pickles was picking broken glass out of the carpet on hands and knees. Murderface was sadly looking at destroyed VHS tapes and running the thin strips of film through his fingers. Charles stared at the wall above where the sofa was as Skwisgaar grabbed a rag to begin trying to scrub at it.

Revenge is coming.

\---

Charles slipped his tie off and set it on the rack in his closet with a defeated sigh. His head was still pounding. His heart was heavy. Nathan was propped up in his bed by a throne of pillows as he looked through a book. Ancient torture methods or something equally morbid and depressing. Something that Charles had tired of over the days and months and years. Not that he expected Nathan to read about the finer points of caring for kittens - he had always skewed towards the macabre, the same way the others had.

“What’s up?” Nathan asked as Charles took off his jacket next. “Something’s up.”

“I had a talk with Toki, today,” there was no sense in lying. Charles’ shirt joined his jacket in the hamper, his buckle on his belt clicked and clattered as he set it on its hook, his slacks were set in the same hamper.

“Cool,” replied Nathan. He flicked a page in his book and huffed in recognition of something he read. “So, what’s wrong?”

Charles tied the waistband of his pajama pants snug against his hips before approaching the bed. As his weight shifted the mattress Nathan lifted his head. His eyebrows knit together when he saw Charles’ face and he watched as Nathan dog-eared the page before setting it aside. With a shaking sigh, Charles crawled under the covers and smiled as Nathan lifted his arm invitingly. He pressed against Nathan’s side and rested his head against his chest. He was warm and his heart was beating and Charles was suddenly reminded of how real everything was.

_Thump thump._

“It was the talk. With Toki,” Charles began cautiously.

“He still doing bad?” Nathan asked. His voice rumbled in his chest and vibrated against Charles’ face.

“I...I don’t know…” he replied.

_Thump thump. Thump thump._

“Toki asked me if I could...if I could, ah, bring…” he stammered. “If I could use what the Church did. For me. To bring...bring Magnus-“

_Thumpthump. Thumpthump. Thumpthump._

The quickening heart rate was accompanied by a heavy hand squeezing Charles’ arm and an involuntary inhale.

“That’s not funny,” Nathan grumbled.

“I wish I was joking,” he said. “But he was very, very serious.”

“So, like, Stockholm Syndrome? Right? He needs to spend more time with Twinkletits?” Nathan turned his head downward and Charles shifted to face him. “And you, like, laughed at him? Told him no?”

“I said I would think about it,” replied Charles.

“Bullshit!”

Nathan was up in a rush of cold air and flurry of blankets, pacing back and forth, bare feet hitting the stone floor. Charles sat up in bed and worried at one of the sheets as Nathan paced.

“No, Charles? What is-you said-what-“ Nathan paused his pacing a moment to look at Charles incredulously before resuming. “Think about it?!”

Charles was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say to soothe Nathan - to at the very least stop his pacing and his panic. There was a look in Nathan’s eyes that was unmistakable and the look on his face was painful. Confusion and what Charles could almost describe as betrayal. The latter being aimed at him felt like - to use an inappropriate metaphor - a knife in his heart. Nathan mumbled to himself and continued to pace before finally stopping where he stood.

“Nathan-“ Charles began.

Nathan’s hands waved in the air for a moment before resting locked against his chest, his eyes darting above Charles’ head.

“This is...why?” Nathan looked him in the eye again. “Not just you, but what does he see in him? To want him back? To protect him, to deal with that and then want everything to go back to normal-“

Charles swallowed.

“I think you don’t have much room to talk,” Charles said quietly.

“Magnus just stabbed me! He didn’t stab me and-“ he paused. “-and...fuck, man, we thought he was gonna die and he-“

“He’s choosing to give him a second chance,” Charles said softly. “Listen, I know that your position in this is...well, very personal, for a few reasons-“

“Do _not_ , Charles,” Nathan snapped.

“Nathan?” he sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Can we...can we talk about this? In the morning? My head is killing me. Come back to bed. This is hard for me, too.”

Nathan grunted but relented wordlessly. He crawled into bed without a word, laying on his side and presenting his back to Charles sullenly. Charles was fine with that. He set his glasses on the bedside table and clapped his hands to turn off the lights in the room. The only light was from the tank in the far wall across from them that bathed everything in a soft blue light. Charles settled on his back and folded his hands over his chest.

A moment passed, but only a moment, before Nathan peered over his shoulder at him.

“Well?” Nathan said.

“Well, what?” Charles asked.

“Come here.”

Charles chuckled and turned on his side, worming his way to Nathan’s back. He pressed his lips between his shoulder blades in a kiss before running his hand up and down his skin in apology. Nathan hummed softly as Charles’ fingers dipped over soft skin and the ghost of muscle still hidden under layers of fat. His breathing quieted and slowed, his body shifted to get closer to Charles and he heard Nathan quietly smack his lips in the dark.

His fingers caught for a moment on the scar on Nathan’s shoulder. It was a concave dip of knotted flesh, faded and doing better but still there. A permanent reminder.

\---

“Glad they didn’t call my parents,” Nathan broke the silence of the car ride.

“You’re, what, twenty-six or so? Wouldn’t expect them to,” Charles replied calmly.

Another moment of silence. Nathan leaned forward and reached for the knob of Charles’ car radio. His hand was shooed away as Charles was struck with an idea.

“Nathan, I have a question,” he began.

“Mm?” Nathan grunted sleepily, whatever they had given him at the hospital probably already kicking in. On top of whatever home medication Pickles had given him.

“Why did you not call the police?” he cut his eyes from the road for a second. “No judgement, just curious.”

“Uh...A-ACAB?” offered Nathan.

Charles blinked.

“It means, uh, ‘all cops are’-“ he continued.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Charles replied. “So, you a, uh, a prison abolitionist, Nathan? Or do you just think that the police need to be given less funding, less power, maybe take away their guns?”

“Huh?” was the reply he got.

“Thought so. You wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if you hurt him, too. If it was after he stabbed you,” he took a moment again to look at him. Nathan’s face was suspicious and confused. “I saw your knuckles. Pretty banged up, like you fought back.”

“I heard something crunch,” he looked at his lap as he talked. “And...and his eye swelled up, like, immediately. I think it’s gonna be bad.”

“Stabbing people is bad, too.”

“Yeah.”

Charles spun the wheel in his hands as he turned onto the next street. The ride was eerie quiet, like the ride to the hospital, and he thought that maybe he should put on some music before Nathan spoke again.

“Just makes me sad,” Nathan slurred. The pain medication was definitely catching up to him.

“I’m sad about this, too,” he replied. It was true. “All the guys are.”

“I’m like, _really_ sad. Me and Magnus are...were...we…” Nathan continued to mumble, sounding like he was on the verge of falling asleep.

Charles had the sudden thought that he would have to lift Nathan out of his car. That was going to be a feat in and of itself. He had done it before, with all of the boys, and usually he had help from the rest of the band. But with the larger of the five men, Charles always needed help from someone similar to their height. He had done that before too, so when he got back he would ask Skwisgaar or Magnus to-

He stopped himself.

“You know, uh, I...I like...I look at guys,” Nathan suddenly announced. “And like…always felt...off about...that. Had girlfriends and they’re cool. I like ‘em too. And guys-“

“Nathan, I am…” Charles chose his words carefully. “I’m flattered you’re comfortable enough to come out to me, I-I suppose but-“

He paused.

Oh, no.

Charles looked over at Nathan when he felt a rush of air to see him rolling down the window. There was a sheen of sweat on his face despite the winter chill.

“Nathan?” Charles said softly. “You okay?”

“Just want...want air,” Nathan said as he leaned his head against the car’s frame.

“Let me know if you’re going to be sick, I’ll pull over,” Charles offered. Nathan nodded in recognition.

He really hoped that Nathan wasn’t going to be sick in his car. It felt selfish to think that and yet at the same time, he had just gotten it detailed. The fresh air seemed to have done Nathan some good. He finally pulled away from the window and rested against the headrest of the seat.

“Magnus l-looks at guys too,” Nathan finally announced.

Charles didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say? That he knew? All Charles could do was set an awkward hand on Nathan’s leg and pat it gently before removing it just as awkwardly.

“Charles?”

“Yes, Nathan?”

“I am gonna puke.”

“Okay, Nathan.”

\---

Charles was a consummate professional. Consummate, consummate professional. Always prided himself on that. Always told himself that he was one. He told himself the same thing as he felt himself turn red at a pair of dark eyes watching him intently as he talked in his office. As he had too much to drink celebrating the band getting signed. As he found himself at his house hungover with dark denim and boots and a belt with a silver buckle making a trail on his carpet.

He was a professional.

“This can’t happen again.”

Magnus looked up from zipping his jeans. Something flashed across his face for a brief moment, a look that Charles couldn’t place, before he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Figured,” Magnus smirked as he turned to face Charles properly. “I know you’ll miss me, though. Don’t even lie.”

“I won’t, because I’ll see you again,” Charles replied coolly. He saw Magnus reach into his pockets and saw him open a pack of cigarettes. “Don’t smoke in my house, please.”

“You just said you won’t see me again,” Magnus spoke coyly as he put his cigarettes back. He settled on Charles’ bed and grinned wolfishly before running a hand up Charles’ arm. His body betrayed him, and he shivered, and Magnus’ eyes lit up.

“I said this won’t happen again,” he said as he drew his arm away. “I’ll still see you, in a professional capacity, for the band, maybe even as friends...but this…”

Magnus was back in his bed. The blankets were warm and inviting. The sun was still barely up. The hangover had been all but shaken out of his body. His cheeks grew hot again as he realized how close Magnus was to him again.

“Round two?” was hot against his ear as he tried to assess the damage of what had been done. How badly this would ruin things.

“This can’t…” he began in a quiet voice. “Can’t…”

“Can’t happen again, yeah, yeah,” Magnus’ voice was hoarse and soft as he talked, grin still splayed out across his face. “I know.”

Magnus was mostly teeth and nails. Teeth on Charles’ lip as they kissed again with such a fierceness to the bite it felt as if they were going to pierce his skin. Nails that dug into his back, that Charles would later see left great red welts on him. And legs, also mostly legs, legs that made him tower over Charles, that splayed out in his bed as he slept that night, that wrapped around his hips to draw him close.

“M-Magnus?” Charles whispered in an exhausted haze. “You need...you need to leave.”

Magnus only had to slip on his jacket and boots this time, to his credit, even though it had taken him longer than expected to get dressed.

“Yup,” he chuckled as he slipped his jacket over his shoulders. The collar did nothing to hide the marks on his neck, the jacket unbuttoned despite the cold and despite the vivid little marks on his chest. “Won’t breathe a word of it, man. Take it to my fuckin’ grave or whatever. Promise.”

Charles sat up and finally reached for his glasses. Magnus pulled still sweaty hair from his face and stood in the doorway of Charles’ bedroom.

“Never again,” Charles said as if it was a warning.

“Of course,” Magnus flicked his pointer and middle finger from his forehead in a lazy salute. “Later, man.”

\---

Nathan was pacing again. Listening to music, some new track that Skwisgaar had put down, rocking back and forth. Charles watched him the entirety of the time. It was little details that caught his eyes when he got like this - how his eyebrows were furrowed together into an intense scowl, the way he would walk on the balls of his feet, or skip as he turned on his heel. The signs of someone who was liking what he heard, and that he was currently lost in it in an intense appreciation that Charles was sure he would never be able to get to.

It also meant that he was being distracted. From important conversation. Very, very important conversation. Because it had been a week. There were luckily no major incidents that would need them to make use of every spot in their morgue but...well...Magnus was there.

Lingering.

The refrigeration system was very nice, though. Almost freezer-like to keep certain bodies in place just in case. For times that they were overwhelmed with bodies, or needed to fake a death and had to keep a spare corpse handy, or for resurrections that took time to make decisions about, apparently. Charles remembered walking them through it at the very first of Mordhaus’ construction. All five of the boys in downey jackets shivering and as Charles explained it, Nathan had said-

“Otzi.”

“Bless you,” Pickles had said back.

Charles hadn’t thought to ask him about it but he had connected the dots a few months later, when Charles was admonishing Nathan for extravagant spending. Nathan had replied with eyes affixed to the ceiling as he had talked about some ice mummy hikers had found, and how it had to be kept in some deep freeze so it wouldn’t rot, and things that were not related to how Nathan felt the need to drop so much money on sneakers.

Nathan was very tricky with avoiding things. He was too busy to talk right now, of course, because he was listening to Skwisgaar’s new track! He had things to do! And then, when that was done, why he’d probably have to go take a nap, or eat a snack, maybe even take a shower. If Charles got especially mad about it, he would probably do some kind of silly voice and nuzzle into his cheek until the corners of Charles’ mouth twisted in on themselves and he let out a chuckle.

“Nathan,” Charles had to try it regardless. “Maybe you should talk with Toki? If this bothers you so much?”

“I’m not bothered,” Nathan replied before cracking his knuckles. Clearly bothered.

“I know you are,” he leaned forward on the sofa, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “Nathan...why does it bother you so much? If I may ask?”

Nathan stopped. There was a moment between them that was soundtracked by Skwisgaar’s frantic strumming. It built into a crescendo of a fast-paced solo, almost screeching in how shrill it was, perfect as always. A true talent that Charles was very blessed to know, and to manage, and to get to work with over the years. But right now, the high guitar chords were making his heart race with further anxiety.

It clicked to a stop with a stroke of Nathan’s finger and somehow the silence was worse.

“Dude?” Nathan cocked his head and raised his eyebrow, face scrunched into a look of genuine confusion. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“I feel like there’s a few things at play, is all. Other than the obvious,” Charles decided that if Nathan was going to be cagey and indirect, he could play coy as well. Maybe he could goad him into saying what was on his mind.

“I don’t see the point in bringin’ back some useless old man who stabbed two people! That we know of! Could’ve done it to other people, I dunno, just out there...shivin’ people. That thing in the news, about that guy who was like stabbing people in the ass? That may have been Magnus, and we’ll never know. Because he’s dead! Yay!” he waved his hands in unenthusiastic jazz hands as he spoke before reaching to turn on Skwisgaar’s guitar track again.

“Is it because of everything with the three of you?”

Nathan’s fingers curled in on themselves into a frustrated fist and the music remained unplayed.

“Mmm,” he tapped his finger to his lip. Paused and looked at Charles with narrowed eyes as if in thought. “Nah.”

“Really?” Charles sat up a little bit and looked at Nathan over his glasses. “Interesting.”

“Wanna know why I’m not jealous?” Nathan asked as he settled onto the sofa next to Charles. “Do you _really_ wanna know?”

“Yes, impress me,” he replied with a smile as Nathan’s arm wrapped around him. He felt his nose press against his cheek, and felt a little smile. It was starting.

“Because I have you. And you…” Nathan kissed the scar that rested on Charles’ temple. “...are cooler, and a better like...dude...friend...close friend, than Magnus. Or, hell, even Toki.”

“Close friend?”

“Best friend,” Nathan corrected himself. “Boy best friend. Best boyfriend. Same thing, really.”

Charles hummed as he laughed through his nose, hand patting at Nathan’s forearm gently.

“Nathan?” Charles said softly, turning his head and angling his body away for a moment to look at Nathan properly. “Would you forgive me? If I-”

“I’ll forgive you,” Nathan said softly. “Even Toki, for being stupid and suggesting it. But I won’t forgive Magnus.”

That was fair. Charles didn’t think that he would, either. He could never find it in himself to forgive Magnus for the scar on Nathan’s back, or the scar on Toki’s side and the cloudy film over his eye, or the scar that ran down Abigail’s sternum. But those were not his things to forgive Magnus for, or even to hold grudges over.

If Toki could find forgiveness in himself for Magnus, that was something that Toki alone could have.

\---

Pickles’ face was sour as Charles approached him. The police were called this time. Charles was called this time. The practice space had the same issue as the apartment had - just far less personal. There were no photos of family that were ripped up (even though, thankfully, Murderface’s grandparents had a copy of his parents’ wedding photos to send in replacement) and there were no more instruments to smash and the walls were relatively free of graffiti. Or, rather, new graffiti. But there were signs Magnus had been there, such as the paint that was splattered everywhere.

“He’s super tall-”

“Long hair-”

“Ams about...oh, God, he ams olds as hell-”

“He’s, like, four years older than me, dude, calm down-”

“Well he looks olds-”

“Stupid fuckin’ beard-”

“I...I don’ts knows him-”

“He’s, like, Jewish or somethin’-”

“Dude he went over this he’s not Jewish, his family is-”

“Well why the fuck do you care anymore-”

It was enough to drive that migraine into Charles’ head again. He hoped that these weren’t going to become a trend with the band, even though they most definitely already had over the years of having to deal with traffic tickets, DUI charges, aggravated assault charges, threats of assault with a deadly weapon (a foreshadowing he should have paid more attention to, perhaps) and a whole slew of personal problems and egos and fighting.

The lock had been picked. There were large boot tracks. Tire tracks in the mud that would maybe link to that van he was probably living out of. Things that would, hopefully, be of use. The fact that it had happened in such a delayed motion, though, set Charles on edge. They had flyered for the audition. They had held those auditions in that same practice space.

The show the other night. The first one with Toki.

Had Charles not seen him? He wasn’t sure how he could have _missed_ a man who always cut a very imposing figure in crowds and had some rather unique characteristics...especially when he would probably still have a bruised and battered face. If Nathan’s knuckles were still scabbed over surely a black eye would have been worse off. Especially one that had apparently swelled within minutes.

“So, we’re gonna have to ask the label for proper practice space,” Charles announced as things were cleared out. His voice bounced off of stone walls, high and admittedly lovely in their acoustics, amplified uncomfortably.

The whole place made him uncomfortable. He had seen needles in a few corners, it was dingy, covered in trash (and like the apartment, it had been covered in trash before Magnus tore through it) and there was the acrid smell of ammonia heavy in the air. Charles preferred not to dwell on whether or not the urine was old, and perhaps from the local homeless population or from wild animals, or if the urine was new and from Magnus.

“We should have dones that befores,” Skwisgaar interjected. “I keeps telling you that we needs to move and shits, too, gets out of that fuckin’ hotels Offdensen has gots us holed up in like scared little bunnies rabbits.”

“We’re working on getting the apartment cleaned up so we can get our deposit back! Get off our nuts!” Nathan snapped.

Charles almost swallowed his tongue trying not to laugh at that statement. The idea of them getting a deposit back was sadly funny, but also at the same time maybe if they could repair some of the damage, they wouldn’t get sued for it. No matter. That was the last thing on his mind at the moment and their sudden explosion of a squabble made him clap his hands to grab their attention again.

“I hates that fuckin’ hotels anyway,” Skwisgaar said into his chest sullenly.

“It’s a nice hotel,” Charles couldn’t help but pout. He was paying for it out of pocket. Having to go to the label with his hat in his hand was not the most ideal.

“It’s okays just...Nat’en and Toki keeps gigglings in the middle of the nights and it keeps me ups,” he crossed his arms and cut the singer and new guitarist a look.

Their whispering to each other stopped. Charles looked at the two of them for a second, saw how Toki was all but huddled against Nathan’s side, and took a deep breath in.

He was going to close his eyes and pretend that he wasn’t seeing any of that, or heard any of that, and he was going to pretend that the phrase _rebound_ hadn’t flickered in his head like high school. It wasn’t any of his business. If the band could...socialize...together (without it ending in one of them stabbing the other) that was perfectly fine. They were allowed to. They were adults. It was fine.

“Listen, I will...talk with the label. About a lot of things,” Charles cleared his throat awkwardly and eyed the entirety of the band. “I need to let them know that Magnus isn’t...a part...of the band, any more. And let them know that Toki _is_ a part of the band. And that we need a practice space. And...maybe clue them into this legal situation that might be brewing.”

Cornickleson was going to strangle him with his bare hands. They had been signed for, what, two months? At that?

_”Hey, Roy, so one of our guitarists decided to go feral and stab the singer...yeah the one who punched your son, that singer...and, well, they didn’t call the police even after he ransacked their apartment. So he’s just sort of loose running around and tearing things up. Oh, no, we know that he’s still in this state at the very least. Why? Well, we need to get a new practice space, because he broke into the old one and threw a bucket of paint...we hope it’s paint...around. Yes. Yes of course, I can understand why you would want me shot on sight, I am so sorry.”_

He couldn’t imagine. It made him want to wither in embarrassment.

“Thanks, man,” Nathan piped up suddenly. “You’re doin’ a lot.”

Charles paused. He felt like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

“Thank you, Nathan.”

\---

The heart rate monitor beeped rhythmically. Even Charles with his lack of musical knowledge and skill could hear the beat in it. A happy, healthy heart. Good as new despite the previous battering that it had taken. Air was running through new lungs, both replaced, one collapsed from the body’s last few ordeals and both hardened and black with cancer. All things that were the signs of a man who was doing just fine. Unfortunately.

This was stupid.

“Good morning,” Charles said as he watched eyelids groggily flutter open.

Magnus wiggled his hands against the leather straps, tugged at the same around his ankles, before relaxing with a sigh.

“I have to piss,” he announced to the ceiling. “Let me up.”

“You’re a big boy, you can hold it,” snapped Charles as he ran his hand over the plastic railing. “If not, that’s what CNAs are for.”

Magnus snorted.

“The fuck you want?” he eyed Charles with suspicion as he finally turned his head towards him.

“To say hello, let you get reacquainted with me,” Charles looked over with a small smile on his face. “I heard about your little performances. Still the showman, huh?”

Food uneaten and strewn on the floor, smeared across walls. Sobbing with dramatic gasps and wails and screams. Spitting. Biting, even, lashing out with bared teeth like a rabid dog. Muttering and rambling to an empty room about how this was Hell, how he deserved it, how if he was actually alive they should have let him rot. Crying out for the same name in the night as he awoke from a dead sleep.

_“Toki, Toki, Toki.”_

Charles hadn’t heard as much as saw. There was a camera of course, but Magnus didn’t know about that and didn’t need to.

“What do you _want_ Offdensen?” Magnus growled.

“To let you know that you’ll be free, soon,” with a flourish of his wrist, Charles gestured to the room. “Free from this room, at least. Physical therapy going well? Heart in order?”

“Free…” Magnus’ eyes wandered.

“Mostly. There’s that contract you signed,” he held the papers up for a moment.

“Signed it with my right hand. That’s not legally binding,” he looked so pleased with himself. Charles would have hated to burst the bubble of anyone else. But with Magnus, he did have to admit he hid a smile. “And on pain meds. Not a sound mind, Charlie.”

“It’s very legally binding. The hand...thing...only works in children’s stories, I’m afraid,” Charles shook his head sadly. “And sound mind or not, it’s legally binding because Magnus Hammersmith is legally dead. Very, very dead. Social Security number gone to be used for voter fraud, meager estate auctioned off, dilapidated van sold for parts.”

Magnus huffed dramatically as he turned his head for a moment.

“I liked that van…”

“Aw.”

“You sell my fuckin’ Gibson, too, you bastard?” he asked the wall.

Charles hadn’t.

“Afraid I can’t remember.”

But, it was another thing that Magnus didn’t need to know details of just yet. Charles hated how much he was enjoying this.

“Is this because I couldn’t make you cum that one time in ‘98, or some shit?” Magnus turned his head again, smirking with a smugness that made Charles’ skin crawl. “You hold a terrible grudge, dude.”

Charles took a deep breath in. He couldn’t even remember if he had or not, it was so long ago and pointless in the grand scheme of things.

“You work for Dethklok now. Keep that in mind,” Charles said briskly. “You have a lot to think about before you can walk as a free man.”

Magnus chuckled to himself, pleased with how he had disarmed Charles for the moment, and watched as Charles set another stack of papers on the side of his bed. A few statements, some stipulations and addendums to his contract. Charles felt like the devil at the crossroads as he watched later that night as Magnus read over it, paced for a few minutes before finally going back and signing them.

With his left hand.

\---

“Sire.”

Charles lifted his head from his food. Nathan paid the hooded figure no mind as he lingered in the doorway.

“Hammersmith wants to talk with you. And he sent a message, that you...should come quickly and…” the klokateer paused at the sheet of paper in his hand. “It’s important. About his contract. And another line, do you want me to repeat-“

“Of course.”

“He said that...he hopes you’ve stopped being a dead fish. A-and that he would be willing to test that out,” there was an uncomfortable cough under the heavy fabric. “Sire.”

A fork squealed across a plate and Charles sighed as he waved the klokateer away without a word. He had other things he knew he had to juggle in the moment. Too many balls in the air right now, even for Offdensen.

“Charles…” Nathan said softly.

“Yes, Nathan?” he tried to reply as innocently as possible.

“He said that to, like, fuck with you, right? You guys didn’t-“ he looked at the frown creasing Charles’ face and groaned. “Oh, come _on_!”

Charles felt the attempt to build a wall and be defensive form in his skull, and he looked at Nathan with a glare.

“It was long before us. It was a single time, in the ‘90s, after the sign-“ Charles was cut off with a groan.

“We were together in the ‘90s! When we got signed!” Nathan yelled, shoving his plate away from himself petulantly.

“I don’t remember that,” he replied coolly.

“Not _us_ , dude!” he corrected.

A flush of blood hit Charles’ face and he stared at his own plate. The idea of eating suddenly grew unappealing and he found himself playing with the paper of his napkin. Nathan was wordless in his grumbling and growling, sounding like an agitated bear woken up too soon from hibernation.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he snarled. “And you’re gonna bring him back, again, and I’m gonna kill him again.”

Charles sighed and rubbed his face. Finding out he was the other man in a relationship after more than a decade was not how he expected this dinner to go. What was he supposed to do, apologize? It was so long ago, and he hadn’t known, and he was drunk, and

And Nathan was still staring at the table, arms across his chest and sliding down the back of his chair, frowning intently.

“He was my first boyfriend. I think. We never said it or anything but…” Nathan paused. Wiped at the corner of his eye. Charles felt his heart sink. “We spent a lot of time together, and we...y’know. A lot. He told me shit he didn’t tell anyone else, I told him shit I didn’t tell anyone else. For three years.”

Charles had never asked for details - the fact that Nathan had admitted to it was obviously enough of an embarrassment and caused him enough hurt. And by the time Charles had gotten close enough to think to ask, Magnus was so far behind them he had been forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” Charles finally said.

“He told me he really liked me,” Nathan announced as if he hadn’t heard Charles at all. “I was special to him.”

His heart sank further.

“Obviously wasn’t though, right?” Nathan finally turned up to look at Charles. “Stabbed me. Fucked other people. I mean, I guess we weren’t exclusive...never said. But...I didn’t fuck around with other people. He said I was special...and...and I know he probably said that to Toki, and isn’t that fuckin’ scary-“

“Nathan?” Charles interjected softly. Held out his hands across the table.

Nathan took them in his own, almost dwarfing Charles’ hand in his grasp. A thumb ran over the class ring on Charles’ finger before squeezing both hands.

“I think you’re special,” Charles finally managed.

Nathan paused. Blinked rapidly for a moment. Charles inhaled sharply, having seen Nathan cry, what, twice before? Once at Charles’ own funeral, televised and permanently recorded, and the other time after Cornickleson’s funeral.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “And...and Charles?”

Charles offered him a small smile in response.

“He would just lay there, and then roll over and fall asleep. Dunno where he gets off, callin’ you a dead fish…” he chuckled, and chuckled again when Charles’ own laugh caught them both by surprise.

\---

Toki peeked out of the doorway when he had heard Charles’ voice and offered a wave before diving back in. He was very shy, it seemed, and leery of most authority figures. Considering the snippets of history he had divulged that Charles has collected, moments with Norwegian and American police and immigration at a young age and homelessness, he couldn’t blame him.

“How is the apartment treating you guys?” Charles asked as he gestured at the walls. Freshly beige and painted, but with egg crates already lining it for soundproofing. They had blessedly listened to Charles when he asked them not to graffiti this apartment.

“Ams good,” Skwisgaar called from the apartment, guitar cradled in his arms. “Good jobs pickings it.”

Charles nodded in appreciation before rubbing his hands together.

“Anyone want to give me a tour? It’s a bit larger than your old place. With a proper kitchen, I see! No more kitchenette!” he laughed.

Nobody offered a tour, so Charles rubbed the back of his neck and coughed.

“Mm, it’s okay,” Murderface said. “Better neighborhood. Miss that one crackhead that would come by.”

“The girl? Aw, she was kinda nice. I hope she’s okay,” Pickles nodded and scratched at the stubble on his chin. “We used to give her Coke. The soda, don’t give me that look, Charles. It’d get hot.”

“She gots a jobs interviews, last I heards, remembers?” Skwisgaar piped up. “In towns. Hitched a rides with Magnus and-“

His sentence died at the mention of The Ongoing Problem, head hanging. Charles desperately needed that tour. Something other than bringing that up. The threats on the wall, the stalking, the phone calls, the hands in his hair, the looming threat of Magnus having no known permanent address, the way his voice had sounded when-

“Well, who has which room? You guys all get your own room, right?” Charles’ voice cracked a moment as he talked.

“You can says that…” Skwisgaar smirked.

Pickles gestured down the hallway. Skwisgaar’s room was first on the left, then Murderface’s across the hall. Pickles’ own room was at the end of the hall. Nathan’s was next to Skwisgaar’s and Toki’s was next to Murderface’s and Toki had been poking his head out of Nathan’s room.

So, you _could_ say everyone had their own room.

Charles was once again going to ignore this new development. If the band didn’t have a problem, other than perhaps Skwisgaar’s comment being taken as an almost friendly jab, Charles wouldn’t either. If Toki - how did Nathan put it? - looked at guys, it was fine. This was all fine.

And a few weeks went by, and Charles visited again, and Toki peeked his head out of his own room. Nathan was in the kitchen eating. The others on the sofa watching TV. It was fine.

Charles didn’t even really know when they had stopped doing all of that. Charles didn’t care. He just knew it was a pleasant surprise - and an eerie sense of deja vu - when the record going platinum was celebrated and Nathan had stopped him in a corner of the party the label threw for them.

Charles was still a professional. He was more professional this time, hoping not to jinx it, and somehow Nathan stayed. Other members of the band remained unstabbed. And Nathan remained in his bed, like he was the night Charles finally decided he was going to get in touch with Toki and finally update him on his request.

\---

The room was mostly empty. There was Charles at his usual position at the table, facing the length of it. And on the other end furthest away was Magnus with klokateers bookending him. The handcuffs and legcuffs clattered to the floor with a sharp sound as the chains snaked off of his body, Magnus rubbing a skinny wrist as he smirked.

“So you do wanna try again-“ Magnus raised his eyebrows suggestively before receiving a thump in the shoulder from one of the klokateers by his side. “Ow!”

“No, I don’t. And I’d rather this be brief, for both our sakes, because I have things I would rather be doing, and so do you. So, for once...as I...extend an olive branch,” Charles’ voice was less acidic than he wanted it to be and more lenient in its tone and softness. “Your contract still applies. But…well, I think it would be terribly unfair of you to not be allowed to live how you want.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows again before furrowing them. It was an almost silent acceptance of whatever Charles was about to offer him. Or at least, that’s how Charles took it and hoped that was what the gesture meant in the first place.

“You will live in Mordhaus for seven months,” Charles said with a small smile. “I’m sure you understand the significance of that number.”

Eyes, brown and grey, flickered to the table.

“Say you understand, Magnus,” the smile faded.

“It was how long…” Magnus rested his elbows on the table and dragged his hands down his face for a moment. “H-how long I had Toki and...and...uh, fuck-”

“Abigail.”

“Right. How long they were...with...me…”

“I think that’s fair. Eye for an eye, and I’m sure you know the significance of _that_ phrase, too,” Charles only blinked when Magnus’ head shot up and he glared at him.

With another dramatic huff, Magnus sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. He looked different in a way that actually suited him. Physical recovery from a slew of health issues. The mental ones were still taking work. Not that Charles particularly gave much of a personal damn, but considering what he had planned for today, he did.

“After those seven months, you’re free to move off of Mordhaus grounds,” he gestured in the air at nothing as he spoke. “Live on your own. There will be the occasional check on you but you’ll be granted more personal freedom if you desire.”

“And if I’m a good boy?” Magnus jeered.

“You’ll be reinstated as a real, living, breathing person. Brought back to life legally,” Charles stood and rounded the table slowly. With a flick of his hand, Magnus grunted as the klokateers grabbed his shoulders and yanked him to his own feet. He still stood radically taller than Charles - and even was taller than either of the guards by his sides - but there was such a birdlike frailty to his frame that made Charles wonder why he was ever scared of him in the first place.

“Is there a catch?” asked Magnus with narrow eyes.

“Oh, yes,” he replied casually. “Even if you are alive and well, sound body and sound enough mind...consider yourself on borrowed time.”

The soft lights of the room shadowed Magnus’ face to a grave looking sunkenness. The hollow eyes stared down at Charles unmoving as he took everything in, as Charles continued to talk.

“Because if I hear so much of a whisper of a toe out of line, of transgressions, of the want or planning or attempt of physical or mental harm to anyone who lives on these properties…” Charles adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “...I will undo all of this hard work bringing you back, myself.”

Magnus swallowed.

“Whatever,” he sneered all the same. “Why’re you bein’ so generous if you just want to kill me in the first place? You fuckin’...never even said why you brought me back. Wanna just rub it in my goddamn face? That why you wanted to?”

“I never said I was the one who wanted to bring you back. It wasn’t my idea,” he nodded his chin towards the wooden double doors at the end of the conference room.

Wood creaked and groaned as a klokateer opened the doors, as they parted. There was the sound of boots on stone. Of soft talking. Of more walking. Magnus continued to glare down at Charles in an attempt at defiance, face hard and unmoving as Charles watched the figure approach them.

“Magnus?”

And with just the sound of his own name, Magnus’ face grew soft, eyes wide, lips drawn tight. Charles circled in a way that made him feel almost vulture-like in how he moved as he allowed the two their space. The space was almost unneeded - all Magnus did was cover his mouth with his hand and pull in on himself. The hand on his shoulder turned him around so that he could face Toki and as Magnus spun, Charles heard a _noise_. Low and soft as it rattled deep from inside of Magnus’ body, pushed out in an expulsion of air and tears as he sunk to his knees onto the stone floor. Toki followed and Charles watched as the two of them sank lower, and lower, wrapped around each other.

There was a wailed apology that echoed off of the walls and high ceiling that made Charles recoil slightly.

“Is okays,” Toki’s voice was almost hushed, as if he was trying to be quiet, but the acoustics made it impossible for a whisper to truly be a whisper.

“No, no, nononononono-” Magnus’ mumbling was muffled by Toki’s shoulder as he buried his face against it.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” interjected Toki as his hands rubbed circles on the small of Magnus’ back. “Is okays. Toki forgives you.”

Magnus pulled back and Toki cupped his cheeks in his hands, rubbing at tears that were still falling with his thumbs.

“ _Why_?”

“Because I misseds you,” Toki smile was gentle, fond, and loving as he pressed his forehead against Magnus’. “It ams easy to forgives someone whats you cares for.”

Charles felt something itch at his skin suddenly. He wasn’t sure what it was. If it could be named at all. He could name the other feelings he felt when he saw Magnus. Anger, disgust, contempt, pity. But seeing him sob as Toki kissed him, and seeing how he clung to the dusky blue shirt, and seeing how his entire body shook at even the slightest of reassuring hugs and touches - that wasn’t pity. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but it almost felt like it could be called that. There was a sudden want for Charles to open his arms and be received and accepted by someone. To cry against their shoulder. For Charles to wrap around someone and be told that, no matter what he did, it would be okay because for that person, Charles was Charles and was someone to be missed.

“The guys aren’t happy,” Nathan announced as Charles walked through the door to their bedroom later that night.

“Toki is,” Charles found himself saying it before he could stop himself.

“New tune,” and of course, Nathan commented on it faster than Charles could say anything else. “Thought you hated the guy.”

Charles paused. Thought for a moment as he pulled his clothes off of his body.

“I do,” he finally said. “More than I think I can ever really describe.”

He sat down in the comfortable softness of his mattress. The bed that was in his bedroom, in his house, next to his man. The blankets were soft as Charles lowered his body into them, Nathan’s hands were rough against his body, his mouth was welcome and hot.

“Round two?” Nathan asked afterwards. Charles hadn’t thought of the phrase in years, that specific phrase in that specific context, and where it may have originated from. If Charles and Nathan had heard it at the same time in the same way from the same person. And he found himself unbothered by it.

“I’m very, very tired,” Charles whispered against his chest. “Thank you, though.”

Nathan chuckled. There was a lull. The only light was from the fish tank in the corner as it always was. A soft blue that illuminated the cool tones of Nathan’s skin and hair and eyes. Made it look as if he was almost glowing. Charles blinked, and the time had passed, and he found himself suddenly unable to blink and go back to sleep again.

“Nathan,” he said softly. “You awake?”

Nathan shifted on his side and turned over. His eyes weren’t even fully open, just narrowed as he turned over to look at Charles, a heavy arm reaching to drape over Charles’ side.

“What’s up?” Nathan mumbled.

“A few weeks ago, I asked if you would forgive me....and you interrupted me,” Charles raised his hand and smoothed back the inky blackness of Nathan’s hair. “I wasn’t asking for forgiveness to...do that.”

“What was it, then?”

“I wanted to ask you...if I ever hurt you, could you forgive me?” he asked him. Nathan’s eyes opened for a moment.

Nathan shut his eyes again. Pulled Charles closer, tucking his chin on the top of his head, hand running up and down his spine.

“Yeah,” he finally grunted.

“I think that’s the point,” Charles whispered.

“It’s too late to get philosophical,” mumbled Nathan. “Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Nathan.”

“Night, Charles.”

And Charles opened his arms, and he was accepted by someone for his full being. For his flaws, for his unkindnesses, for his mistakes. For his strengths, for his achievements, for his abilities. The greatness of his accomplishments and the embarrassment of his failures. There was someone that held him close and appreciated him and saw things in him that others did not and was able to look past the things others could not.

Maybe Toki did the same. That was, after all, one of the finer points of life, wasn’t it? To find someone who would accept you the way that you were. To be able to be forgiven for the worst transgressions by at least one person. To have someone that would always be there for him.

To be loved.


End file.
